


Tabloid

by cyprith



Series: Modern Magic AU [4]
Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:22:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1835932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyprith/pseuds/cyprith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something's bothering Diaval. Maleficent does her awkward best to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tabloid

**Author's Note:**

> Anon prompted: I'm no angel

At first, Maleficent didn’t notice anything amiss. Diaval popped in and out of her office as much as he ever did—knocking only about half as often as she saw him—and always with some kind of smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

Perhaps, had she been looking—really looking—she’d have seen it didn’t reach his eyes.

—

“There’s the profit reports from Carabas and the new billboard design,” he said, handing a sheaf of papers over her desk. “Advertising wants a new batch of interns, by the way. Apparently they lost the last ones.”

“Run the usual listing,” she told him. And then, “Have we heard back from Beantown?”

“Extermination went well. It’ll be operational by tomorrow.”

Maleficent looked up, a question on her tongue, but whatever she’d meant to say evaporated.

Diaval had combed his hair. And not only that, but today he wore his shirt sleeves rolled down, hiding his winged tattoos for the first time in her memory. But for the lack of tie, he’d not have looked out of place in accounting.

“What?” he asked, half smiling. Maleficent shook her head.

“Nothing.”

—

And so it went between them.

Maleficent spent much of the next week in meetings and conference calls. Always caught up in preparation for the next hurdle, the next interview, the next new spell to change the face of home security, she barely had time to spot her own face in the mirror. She registered Diaval only as a constant presence at her elbow, a shadow like wings in her peripheral vision, a small voice reminding her when to go home, to sleep.

She didn’t notice anything.

—

But, as these things go, eventually Maleficent’s concentration broke.

Somewhere just after five thirty, the end of a particularly long and bloody week, Maleficent looked up from yet another god forsaken spreadsheet and realized she could not remember when last she ate.

Strange, she thought, leaning away from the screen. Usually Diaval hovered and threatened and set up camp in her office if she even _looked_ as though she might work through her break. But today… had she even seen him today?

Slowly, Maleficent stood and stretched her wings. Her back cracked. Several lost pens clattered to the floor. But as she looked around—no, there sat a small styrofoam box on the edge of her desk. Take-out from some place or another.

Hm. Odd.

Crossing the room, Maleficent stepped outside and into the outer-office that comprised Diaval’s workspace and her waiting room. She found the shifter squinting at a stack of papers, highlighter in his hand—and, of all things, actually _wearing_ his tie.

Maleficent smiled. “Following the dress code today, I see?” she asked. “What an interesting change of pace.”

But where she had expected moral indignation—as Diaval so often disputed the correlation between quality of work and adherence to social expectations—Diaval only shrugged. Barely meeting her eyes, he flashed a pained little smile and handed her the papers he’d been highlighting.

“There’s the performance reviews. Yellow for concerns, red for infractions. Green dot at the top means no complaints.”

Maleficent set the papers down. “What’s wrong?”  

At this, finally, he startled enough to look her properly in the face. “Nothing.”

“You’re different,” she said, eyeing him. “You’ve changed.”

Half turning away from her, Diaval shrugged, sorting the remaining papers on his desk. “Thought I’d try being a functional member of society,” he said, his voice soft and so bitter.

Maleficent recognized the darkness there. She knew that particular flavor of fear, had confronted those demons herself in the wee hours of the night.

Quietly, she sat down on the edge of his desk. “Do you know why I employ you?” she asked.

Had she screamed, she could not have won his attention faster. Pale, mouth tight, Diaval sat back in his chair.

“Felt bad for me?” he ventured quietly. “Didn’t like the look of my smug-arse landlord?”

“I _hired_ you for those reasons, yes,” she said, shrugging. “I _employ_ you, however, because you provide me a quality of service my other assistants never achieved.”

Diaval snorted in surprise. “What, _me_?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “I admire your competency, and your way with people.” But then, having come this far, Maleficent found herself abruptly out of steam and uncertain where to go next.

Her wings rustled, shifting uncomfortably. “Does that help?”

Looking up at her, Diaval ran his fingers through his hair, messing it, and immediately looked better. “Yeah. Yeah, suppose it does. It’s just, I’m no angel. But _you_ —you’re…” he groped for the word, hands dancing, but found nothing. At last, frustrated, he sighed and opened up the drawer of his desk. “Here.”

“The Red Riding Rag?” Maleficent asked, lifting an eyebrow at the super market tabloid she’d been given.

He smiled, though it remained a touch too bitter, too hurt. “Made the front page.”

Indeed, Maleficent found a wilder Diaval on the cover, police on either elbow, the words: **CEO of Moor Inc. Hires Ex-Con Personal Assistant!** emblazoned above his head. She shrugged.

“Well, it’s not untrue.”

Diaval blinked. “You _knew_?”

“Of course. You were on parole when I hired you. You still had that hideous little bracelet.”

Diaval laughed, bright and sharp. As easily as that, he returned to the man she knew.

“Oh, of course. _Of course_ you knew,” he crowed. “I forget you notice everything. Especially _my_ lovely self.”

Though she’d admit it only to herself, Maleficent felt better seeing him smile again. Rolling her eyes, she stood and returned to her office.

“Did you eat?” Diaval called after her.

Safely unobserved behind her door, she smiled. Dry as dust, she said, “You know I don’t without your nagging.”

“It’s not nagging, it’s my _charming and delightful way with people_.”                                                                              

“I did not say that.”

Wild-haired and tie missing, Diaval poked his head through the doorway. He grinned. “I’m taking you to dinner regardless.”

This time, Maleficent could not quite suppress her smile.

“Oh,” she said, taking her coat from the rack. “In that case, I suppose I’ll let it pass.”


End file.
